


fated roses

by iriswests



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Magic, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/pseuds/iriswests
Summary: Eva just wanted to get some air in her courtyard. A bizarre, whirlwind encounter with a stranger was not part of her plan for said air.





	fated roses

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i am not back in an official capacity but since i committed to writing for the skam reverse bang i am here to post this very tiny thing for it. thank you so much to [margot](https://lesbiankelsey.tumblr.com/) for being so damn patient with me when i went AWOL due to some shitty stuff that's happened to me this month. you're wonderful and your art deserves a whole museum. 
> 
> by the way **[here is the post with her art](http://juilawicker.tumblr.com/post/176753969408/beautiful-art-by-lesbiankelsey-fated-roses-by)** and it's beautiful and it was my first choice because i think this fandom needs a lot more wlw love and also i need some more wlw love tbh.
> 
> ahhh also this is sort of based on a universe that's already been expanded in my head so i just dropped them in there because they're beautiful and i love them. okay i'm done i love you all very very much.
> 
> (p.s. this is not beta'd so any and all mistakes are 10000% mine like all of the mistakes i make ever)

It’s cold, but Eva expected little else from a winter night. Saying it out loud might be a little on the nose, considering there’s no one around the courtyard but her, but — still.

Her mother had allowed her to escape for a moment out back, after hearing Jonas’s and Ingrid’s introductions; it’s perhaps the first time Eva’s seen her be sympathetic towards anything regarding Eva’s personal relationships, so even though a part of her is grateful, another part of her is wondering if there’s something seriously wrong with her mother.

Still. She’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, is she? Not when she’d much rather not have to exchange pleasantries with the man who might have one day been—

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. She’s not lying to herself, either. It’s simply — uncomfortable, more so than it is melancholy.

Isak had offered to be a mediator; though Eva doesn’t think he’d be much good at that. Though a wonderful tutor, and perhaps her only friend in this big, jaded castle, he also found a best friend in Jonas, and Eva’s not entirely sure he’s forgiven her entirely for rejecting his best friend and pushing him back into Ingrid’s arms. It was a necessary evil, however, and sometimes Eva wishes Isak could see things from her perspective — though, in truth, she doesn’t wish this perspective on anyone.

(Maybe a little on Ingrid, at first, but it’s taught Eva to be careful what she wishes for.)

But to be a Princess — Eva doesn’t hate it. She doesn’t feel trapped, or cursed. Simply — _fated_. Her mother’s always been better at political and social affairs than she has, and it’s always been apparent to anyone who’s ever been close enough to them to figure it out. Eva, for all that she believes she’s pleasant enough, has a hard time maintaining relationships that are meant to be _civil_ and _beneficial_ ; she’d much rather speak to people to get to know them, what they like, who they _truly_ are, not who they’re pretending to be for her benefit. Still — she understands. Her mother always reminds her how lucky she is, to be who she is; every little girl dreams of being a princess, she reminds Eva, and you just happened to be lucky enough to be born one.

Eva loves the small things. The dresses, for example. And she truly does enjoy helping people. She loves interacting with the people of the Kingdom and getting to know the workers in her castle and she loves the _Princess_ part of being a Princess, don’t get her wrong, but she doesn’t like the _soon-to-be-Queen_ part of being a Princess. A Queen’s interactions, Eva’s noted throughout her entire life, are limited to either political or cordial. Eva doesn’t think she’s ever seen her mother connect to anyone on a deeper, more emotional level, not since her father’s death, and it’s so frightening to think that’s what Eva’s life is going to look like when she becomes Queen: lonely. She’s sure her mother had friends before this life became her; all Eva knows about being a Queen is that she will lose all of her friends, all of her trusted confidants, and she will slowly become old, paranoid and boring.

So, yes. Many little girls, she’s sure, dream of becoming a princess. Less, however, dream of becoming queens.

So not trapped, and not cursed, just — fated.

The ball going on inside is grand. They usually are, when her mother sees to it. She’s sworn she’s thrown this ball for the highest-ranking among their kingdom and their two neighboring kingdoms — all in the name of _peace_ in these “uncertain times”.

Her mother isn’t entirely against the magical system, see, whereas their neighboring kingdoms prefer to keep magic guarded and controlled; it’s caused tensions for years, now, and Eva’s mother hopes to be able to — if not make their neighbors see _reason_ — then perhaps calm attitudes down enough so she has enough time to attempt again. Her mother is many things, but a quitter? Not for a second.

(Though sometimes — Eva wonders. Earlier that morning, as Isak was trying to teach Eva some alchemy, she’d inquired out loud:

“Do you really believe she’s put this together for a chance at peace?” Isak had immediately looked up from his textbooks, his spectacles sliding down his nose comically. Eva continued: “Sometimes I think she _prefers_ the tension between us and Astoria. It’s almost like she likes the idea of simply being on the _brink_ of war.”

Isak had grimaced, fixing his glasses. “You know I can’t answer that.”

Eva had narrowed her eyes at him, almost teasing. “Do you think I’d turn you in for treason?”

Isak shrugs his shoulders dramatically. “With the way you got rid of Jonas? I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

And _here_ — see, Eva knows Isak had meant this as a joke, but – still. She couldn’t help but feel the sting of the comment in the moment, deep in her heart. She’d averted her gaze, stared intently at the floor, instead, and tried to let the moment pass without incident. If she’s lucky, she’d thought, Isak would forget about it and move on – but then, she’s not very lucky, is she?

“I’m sorry,” Isak had apologized quietly, and Eva had sighed and shaken her head.

“Don’t—”

“No, that was – it was a very ridiculous attempt at humor, I’m sorry, I know you didn’t – _get rid_ of Jonas, he just—”

“He was your best friend, Isak,” she’d interrupted him with as much haste as he had her. “I understand that you feel bitter about the fact that he had to leave. And I wish – sometimes, I wish—”

“I know,” Isak nodded solemnly. “So do I.”

They’d quieted, then.)

She cannot imagine what a Queen must go through, what she must carry upon her shoulders. Sometimes, she thinks maybe she catches a glimpse of it, in the heaviness of her mother’s expression, but then the hint of it will be gone in a flash, like it’d never been there at all, and her mother seems as invincible and as distant as always.

Fated.

Eva steps atop a platform and sighs to herself as she walks towards a banister, her intent to rest against it for a minute or two before gathering enough of her wits to waltz back inside the ballroom and pretend she didn’t just hide out like a child avoiding their monster under the bed.

The cement of it feels cool against her forehead. Even now, thinking about how lonely she might feel one day, when duty is all that she’ll know, the silence and emptiness of the courtyard is peaceful and inviting, roses lining the edge of the castle, quietly asking for her attention.

Eva closes her eyes and refuses to give it to them.

It’s quiet and dark for a minute, maybe two, but then—

There’s a sudden crunching sound behind her, and Eva’s eyes are quick to open as she turns her head, attempting to focus her vision in the dark.

“Who’s there?” she calls out, forcing her voice to remain steady. And she very pointedly does _not_ think about Alessia, one of her very favorite ladies in waiting, asking if perhaps she’d like an escort as she’d walked through the kitchens and towards the back door, and tries not to lament her decision of pointedly reminding Alessia that this was _her_ courtyard and that she would be _fine_ , thank you.

Eva hears the footsteps first — not as loud as the first crunch she’d heard, anyway —  then she sees a figure step out from behind the large marble statue of a lion – her mother’s favorite, incidentally – and at first, it’s a little dark to make out the stranger’s face.

But then she _can_. And the stranger is — a woman. A _beautiful_ woman. A woman Eva must have missed the introduction of, if it’d happened after Jonas’s and Ingrid’s, so a woman Eva doesn’t know the name of (she makes a note to tell Isak about this later, considering he’d been the one to tell her she shouldn’t _worry_ so much about _remembering names_ when they’re all _announced out loud anyway, Eva)_ but one Eva cannot take her eyes off all of a sudden; she could chalk it up to safety, of course, as she’s a stranger _clearly_ trespassing on her property, but she’s also — well, she’s _beautiful._ She’d established that already, hadn’t she?

As the stranger approaches, Eva takes in more of her features. Her eyes — a stunningly cold blue, the color so intense they stand out even against the darkness — her nose — sharp and pointed, almost as poised as the stranger’s shoulders — and her lips, soft and pink, parted only slightly as the stranger walks towards Eva, slowly, carefully.

Eva takes a step back, despite herself. She’s still atop the platform, whereas the stranger remains a level below her; and the stranger stops when Eva’s hand involuntarily rises to put some sort of distance between the two of them, like she’s read her mind.

She assesses the stranger before her. From what Eva can tell, the woman must be a noble – her blouse something like gold-patterned, her coat a navy blue and form-fitting, the way you’d _expect_ a noble to present themselves at a political affair, though — not a ball. She’s wearing brown slacks and similarly-tinted shoes, and she has – _is that_ —

“Do you have a _sword_ with you?” Eva nearly shrieks. “Did no one check you at the gates?”

The stranger looks down at the sword at her waist for a moment. “In my defense,” the stranger’s voice is surprisingly soft, for someone presenting herself so boastfully. “I didn’t expect anyone to be out here.”

“Yes, well,” Eva clears her throat. “This part of the courtyard is _expressly_ off-limits to the guests.”

“I was counting on it,” the stranger replies, smiling crookedly. Eva’s stomach turns – though not _uncomfortably_ , per se. “I didn’t want anyone to see the sword, you see.”

“Well,” Eva blinks at the sword again. “I’ve seen it.”

“You have,” the stranger replies, then she bows slightly. “I beg your forgiveness, your Highness.”

Eva opens her mouth to specifically _not_ forgive the stranger, but instead she ends up asking, “Why are you hiding with your sword, anyway?”

The stranger straightens then, her blue eyes meeting Eva’s. “Oh, I wish I could tell you,” she replies, and Eva feels herself scowling. “I don’t mean to keep it a secret, but it’d be better if you didn’t know.”

Eva, rather than offended, is more _alarmed_. “You can see how that’s — suspicious, right?” she asks, taking a slow step back. “You’re sneaking around my castle with a _sword_ and then you tell me I’d be better off _not_ knowing why?”

The stranger’s eyes widen a bit. “Oh, I don’t mean — I’m not here to _hurt_ you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Eva eyes the sword. “Hm?”

The stranger holds both hands up in front of her, in a sort of placating gesture. “I promise,” she replies. “This sword is not intended to hurt you or your mother, Your Highness. That’d be — well, that’d be rude, wouldn’t it, since you both kindly extended the invitation to me.”

Eva wishes she could know if that was _true_ , but — her mother takes care of these things. Still, she doesn’t want to look like a _fool_ in front of this woman, mostly because she’s really very beautiful and she already makes a fool of herself enough in front of people who maybe aren’t as beautiful, so she pretends to know exactly what she is talking about and nods her head in agreement. “Yes,” she clears her throat. “That would be very rude, Lady…?”

The woman furrows her brows, but her expression is amused as she tilts her head. “Amalie,” she replies after a beat. “Of Alexandria.”

Eva nods. “Lady Amalie of Alexandria,” she repeats, desperately trying to remember the name from the list of guests she’d merely glanced over once or twice (she’s going to kill Isak, properly, truly kill him after this), but she’s coming up empty. She continues on, however, faking confidence, because if nothing else, she’s very good at that. “If you’re not here to hurt me _or_ my mother, I assume you intent to hurt someone else?”

“I hope not,” Amalie replies. “Simply a precaution. We’ve heard some rumors.”

Eva frowns. “We?” she shakes her head. “Who is _we_?”

Amalie’s mouth parts open, but then she seems to think better of her reply — her lips close and they form a soft smile, one that is infuriatingly endearing, enough so that it renders Eva useless even when she’s very aware her question is being _avoided_.

“The better question would be why _you’re_ out here by yourself,” Amalie replies, finally. “Your own ball is going on inside and you’ve decided to abandon it. Are you not much for parties, Your Highness?”

Eva frowns. “I love them,” she replies, sniffing slightly. “Usually. It’s one of the better perks of royalty, anyway.”

Amalie’s lips twitch. “You say that with such disdain.”

“What?”

“ _Royalty_ ,” Amalie replies, and Eva’s not sure if she says the word the way she says it because she’s attempting to recreate Eva’s tone, or if there is truly something sour to Amalie’s tone when she says the word, as well. “Not a fan of your title, then?”

Eva scoffs quietly. “You’re very—” she tries to find the correct word. “Forward,” she finally decides on. “And know nothing about me. Maybe that’s just how I say the word. With a particular inflection. Maybe it’s my accent.”

“I mean no offense, Your Highness, but I’m fluent in your native dialect, as well,” Amalie continues, and oh, of _course_ she would be. “I’ve studied accents my entire life, almost, and it’s safe to say that had very little to do with your accent and more to do with your attitude, maybe?”

“Do you usually come to other people’s castles and insult them, Lady Amalie?”

“No, I think this would be a first,” she replies, and her smile is so bright and amused it’s almost unfair how easily Eva returns it. “I apologize if I have offended you, however. It was not my intention. You are simply — very interesting.”

Eva raises an eyebrow despite herself. “How do you mean?”

Amalie purses her lips and hums for a moment. “I’ve simply never met a Princess like you,” she says. “And I mean — quite in general. As beautiful, or as confident.”

Eva kind of wants to ask where Amalie is getting _confident_ out of this trainwreck of a conversation, but she’s mostly stuck on the _beautiful_ part, if the heat on her face is any indication of the matter. She attempts to hide her pathetic blush by looking pointedly at the ground below her, her green dress flowing only slightly despite the chilly winter wind.

“You must not meet many Princesses, then.”

“On the contrary,” Amalie replies, sounding amused. “I meet many, and often. More than I’d care to.”

Eva raises her gaze to meet Amalie’s once more, though she’s more confused than anything else now. “I’m sorry — you say you’re from Alexandria, are you — what House, if I may ask?”

Amalie’s smile falters some, but her posture remains straight and collected as it’s been this entire time. “I’m from Alexandria, but I reside there no more, Your Highness. I’ve taken on a new role, see.”

Eva eyes the sword once again. “Do you break into private courtyards and steal flowers?”

“Not unless it’s to give them to beautiful Princesses,” Amalie grins, and this is just — entirely unfair, she must know what she’s doing to Eva, right? It’s _why_ she must be doing this. “I actually serve the Mercenaries, Your Highness. Most notably, I’m a Captain.”

Eva blinks quickly, trying to wrap her head around this new set of information. A Mercenary Captain — it makes sense. Her attire, though formal, screams _political affair_ , and the way she’s holding herself — plus the sword — except—

“I wasn’t aware we’d invited any Mercenaries tonight,” Eva replies slowly. “So you’ll forgive my confusion, Lady Amalie, at your being here at all — again.”

Amalie nods. “I understand that we’re not your — _favorite_ people,” she starts, and Eva snorts despite herself.

“A Kingdom that prides itself in allowing magic to roam free as it likes is not fond of the largest order that makes _sure_ magic remains restrained? I can hardly _believe_ it, how _dare_ we not openly welcome—“

Eva’s words are cut short when Amalie takes a step onto the platform, suddenly at Eva’s level — even when Eva takes another cautious step back, it’s easy to see Amalie is at least an inch taller than her, and up close, she must say, she is _infuriatingly_ more striking than from afar, which is quite unfortunate, considering their position as it stands.

Amalie’s hands are still held out before her, as if trying to prove to Eva there’s nothing to fear. And though the logical part of Eva is screaming to perhaps turn around and run out of there and _tell_ someone about the intruder, there’s another, larger part of her that simply — isn’t scared.

“I was invited,” Amalie promises. “Not as Mercenary Captain, no, but I was.”

Eva shakes her head. “I knew I couldn’t remember your name on the guest list,” she mutters. “Who were you invited as, then?”

Amalie visibly swallows, and she suddenly looks uncomfortable — shoulders slumping slightly, she replies, “Along with my family.” She pauses. “I must have been under your guest list as Noora Sætre.”

Eva blinks. And blinks. And blinks. Then—

“Alexandria’s _Princess_?” she barks, and Amalie sighs loudly as Eva finally takes a step toward her instead. “Your name was a mere _formality_ on the list, because my mother’s advisors thought it’d be in poor taste to leave you out of it, but you—“ Eva points accusingly at her. “ _You_ have been declared _missing_ for two years.”

Amalie — Noora, that is — grimaces. “Yes, well, my parents have known exactly where I’ve been this entire time, they’ve simply been too _embarrassed_ to tell anyone so — it’s better a Princess be missing than to denounce her title and join the Mercenaries, right?”

Eva blinks. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Very.”

“You—“ Eva shakes her head. “You’ve been a topic of conversation every time my mother warns me about roaming my _own Kingdom_ , and you’re saying you simply — decided to _leave_? Just like that? Denounced your _throne_?”

Noora shakes her head, now only holding up a disapproving finger. “My _title_ ,” she corrects. “The throne’s always belonged to my older brother, so it would not have made much of a difference—”

Eva continues to shake her head furiously. “A Princess can’t _quit,_ ” she sputters stupidly. “She — she can’t — we’re not — we don’t have the _luxury_ —”

“I was never much of a Princess, anyway,” Noora interrupts solemnly. “It was never _for_ me. It was — just busy work. Tea parties. Meet and greets. I could effect no _real_ change, not with my brother’s shadow looming over me _,_ so I decided that I wanted to effect _real_ change. _Lead._ The way I _know_ I was meant to.”

Eva stares at this beautiful, strange, stupid woman in front of her and immediately decides she absolutely one hundred percent likes her very, very much. Still, though — “But a _Mercenary_?” Eva purses her lips. “Of all the ways to _effect_ _change_ , you decided to become a Captain in one of the most barbaric, backwards, repressed organizations under the Church?”

Noora shrugs her shoulders easily. “Sometimes the only way to effect change is to infiltrate it.”

“I—“ Eva shakes her head. “You are the most non-Princess Princess I have ever met in my life.”

Noora smiles. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure that was a compliment.”

“I think it was.”

She’s probably right. “How did you not rouse suspicions when you just announced your presence as if you were waltzing back home?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Noora shakes her head. “I definitely snuck in.”

“But you were _invited_!”

“Not _really_ , you and I both know that, you just _told_ me, and besides — I might not be the greatest fan of my family, but I also don’t want to disgrace them at _your_ ball. That’s just in poor taste, Your Highness.”

“Don’t—” Eva holds up a hand and shakes her head distastefully. “Call me Eva, please. Knowing who you are, hearing you — Eva’s fine.”

Noora smiles and bows. “Eva, then,” she replies quietly, and Eva’s name sounds so sweet on her tongue she feels even a little faint at the sound. “You may call me Noora.”

“Yeah,” Eva laughs once. “Noora, okay. So what are you — are you here on behalf of your Commander or your Family?”

Noora shakes her head. “Neither,” she replies. “I’m here with a small group of my own people.”

Eva blinks. “You mean—”

Noora raises a finger to her lips mysteriously, her smile crooked. “It’s best if we don’t discuss it, Eva.”

Eva sighs in frustration. “Please do not kill anyone tonight.”

“That’s not part of the plan,” she replies. “Quite the opposite, really.”

Is the opposite of killing someone bringing them to life? Does Eva even want to _ask_?

“Which reminds me, your friend—” Noora pauses for a second, seemingly thinking. “Isak? The tall one. Blonde.”

Eva nods. “That’s probably Isak, yes.” He’s also her only friend, not that she’d say that out loud. Noora probably thinks of her lame enough already.

Noora smiles. “We could use him,” she replies, and Eva feels a little protective.

“Yeah, well, so could I,” she replies quickly. “He’s my private tutor.”

Noora raises an eyebrow. “I apologize. I didn’t realize—” she gestures lamely, and Eva understands, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Oh, _goodness_ , no, _no,_ our affection is merely platonic,” she replies quickly. “But there is _affection_ , nevertheless, and he’s — he’s—”

“I understand,” Noora replies, quietly, kindly. “I won’t attempt to recruit him; not if he means so much to you.”

Eva is quiet for a second. “Recruit him to _what_?”

Noora shakes her head. 

Eva grunts. “This is so _frustrating_. I just wanted some _air_.” 

Noora laughs quietly, and Eva scowls at her, offended.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not,” Noora promises. “I’m not — it’s not a mocking laugh, you’re simply — you’re so — do you like being a Princess, Eva?”

Eva blinks, taken slightly aback. “What?” she nods once. “Of course I do.”

Noora studies her. “I believe you,” she replies. “But I also believe there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Eva licks her lips and averts her gaze. The roses from before, that had demanded her attention — she gives it to them now, only out of spite. “You don’t know anything about me, Noora. It’s a little presumptuous of you to make that claim.”

“You’re right. I don’t expect anything from you.”

Eva feels her face wrinkle entirely. Noora had spilled her entire life story to Eva upon _minutes_ of knowing her, so a part of Eva feels like maybe she owes Noora something similar, but — it’s difficult. It’s just not something she says out loud, ever, to anyone, not to Isak — not even to herself. It’s a quiet, festering fear inside of her, but it’s _hers_ , and it’s only meant to be hers. And how could Noora understand? Where Noora’s fear was being a Princess forever and never a Queen, Eva’s is quite the opposite. She doesn’t have the hunger Noora seems to have, nor the confidence, though she wishes she could — even if just for a night, a moment. She’d like to know what it feels like. 

“Do you hate magic, Noora?” Eva asks suddenly, quietly.

Noora’s response is swift and sincere. “No.”

“Sometimes I wish I were Able,” she continues quietly. “The things I’ve seen magic do — it’s beautiful, you know. And I think it makes a person so very, very special.”

Noora says nothing, allows Eva to continue.

“Isak is Able,” she explains. “And though he’s tried to teach me before, I don’t think it’s in me, not like it’s in him. And it makes him special — he’s my best friend,” she continues. “Do you understand why keeping him anywhere near the Mercenaries wouldn’t be a good idea? They would take what makes him special, Noora, and crush it out of him. Restrain it, as if it’s not a part of him already.”

Noora looks down. “Yes,” she agrees quietly. “I know.”

“I like being a Princess,” she finally addresses the question from before. “I like being a Princess _here_ , where people are free to be who they want to be. I like — the tea parties, and the meet and greets—”

Noora opens her mouth as if to interrupt, but Eva doesn’t allow her to.

“And I like to know my friend is safe when he walks into town, and I like knowing that I can be a part in keeping him that way. Maybe I can’t — lead as easily as you, Noora, nor do I think I _want_ to, but I like _helping_ ,” she replies. “And that’s what I see as being a Princess.”

Noora is quiet for a second, before she sighs and steps closer to Eva. “Oh, no,” she replies, and Eva meets her gaze curiously.

“What?”

Noora steps closer, and then again a bit closer, and then her hand rises slowly to tuck Eva’s hair behind her ear. Her fingers brush against Eva’s cheeks slightly, but it’s enough to leave a searing path in their wake. “Your Kingdom is lucky to have you, Eva,” she replies quietly. “Had you been at my side in Alexandria, and not my brother — I know I would not have hated it as much as I did.”

Eva blushes stupidly. “I didn’t—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, as she’s cut off by the feeling of Noora’s soft, pink lips suddenly on her own, and it’s — well, it’s everything she thought it wouldn’t be. Fiery, yet soft. Demanding, yet surrendering. It’s — quite frankly, she doesn’t think any kiss she’s ever had compares to the kiss she’s receiving now, by the long lost Princess of Alexandria, and if that’s not the strangest sentence she’s ever said to herself, she’s not sure what is. 

When Noora steps back, her eyes are still closed, and is she’s savoring the moment. Eva wishes she was that serene, but it turns out she’s not, and she’s already touching her lips to make sure they’re still there, since they seem to have gone numb from the favorable contact they’ve had with Noora’s.

“I have to go,” Noora finally says, opening her eyes. They look as foggy as Eva feels.

“Oh,” Eva frowns. “So—”

Noora’s already turning around and stepping off the platform, so Eva follows her right to the edge, before Noora turns back around and looks back up at her. Eva shakes her head in disbelief.

“So you’re leaving? Just like that?”

Noora points at her sword. “I’ve come to do something,” she reminds Eva. “I’ve got to do it now.”

Eva has so many questions, and they must all show on her face, because Noora then takes Eva’s hand gently, and presses a soft kiss to it as she bows respectfully.

“If you didn’t find me too forward—”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the first thing I said I found you.”

Noora’s lips twitch. “If you didn’t find my _kiss_ too forward, then, maybe I’ll come and see you again.” This time, Noora sounds less confident and more hopeful, and she’s suddenly just as human as Eva in the blink of an eye.

“Will you tell me what you’re planning? What you’re doing here tonight?”

A whistle breaks through the wind — man-made, however, and Noora perks up at it. She looks behind Eva, then shifts her gaze to meet Eva’s again. She smiles. “I have to go.”

Eva doesn’t let go of her hand. “If you come back,” she insists. “Will you tell me what is going on?”

Noora looks at her for what feels like an eternity, before finally nodding once. “If you’ll have me back,” Noora replies. “I’ll be nothing but happy to tell you anything you want to hear. Worse, I’d be helpless to refuse.”

Eva bites her lip, failing to hide the pleased smile teasing her lips. She lets Noora go then, but her hand still feels warm against the cold around her. “Okay,” she nods. “I’ll see you soon?”

Noora nods. “Give me a fortnight,” she replies. “I’ll be here again.”

Two weeks, Eva tries not to groan petulantly out loud. Instead, she nods, and Noora once again bows.

“Until then, Eva.”

“Goodbye, Noora.”

And then she’s gone, as quickly as she came, and Eva has no idea what she’s off to do, nor why she’s doing it in her castle, nor why she’s letting it _happen_ so easily, but — there’s something about Noora Sætre that makes Eva feel less — less— 

Fated.

“There you are.”

Eva turns around, recognizing Isak’s voice immediately, and the man steps onto the platform with Eva, his hair flopping onto his forehead, voice a little breathless. “Hi, Isak.”

“I’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you,” he forgoes the greeting. “You will absolutely never guess what just happened to me.”

Eva smiles crookedly. “I bet it cannot top what just happened to _me_.”

Isak’s eyebrows rise. “Oh?” 

Eva shrugs. “Are you willing to bet against your Princess?” 

Isak laughs. “I’ll even _risk_ treason for that.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

Isak laughs, then frowns. “Oh,” he says, suddenly pointing at something behind Eva. “Did you pick that?” 

Eva frowns and turns around to see what Isak’s referring to, and there — one of the roses Eva had both avoided and pointedly stared at tonight lays beautifully on the banister she’d laid her head against, far away from the others. Impossibly away. Eva turns around and walks towards it, picks it up and smells it, smiling secretly.

“You know your mom hates it when you pick the flowers.”

Eva hums, clutching the rose to her heart as she turns to look back at Isak. “Will you show me your magic again tonight, Isak?”

Isak sighs, but seems to smile despite himself. “You’re only friends with me for my magic, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Eva walks back towards him and links her arm with his. “It’s what makes you special.”

Isak shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That you think that, though — that’s what makes _you_ special.” 

Eva brings the rose back towards her nose and takes another sniff of it. “You know,” she replies quietly. “Maybe there’s something to that, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://juilawicker.tumblr.com/) and so is [margot](https://lesbiankelsey.tumblr.com/), but i'm very much not active on any social media right now because dealing with things. however i plan on returning to it soon, so if you'd like to keep up with that, give me a follow. again, i love you all and i love you all a LOT and i love you all all the time. <3


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